outlived its uses. Its people had long ago gone down into the fruitful
valley, and raised another church in their midst, and left this old
house of God alone, and silent as the tombs of their forefathers that
lay around it.

It was no ruin, though on the road to decay. One of the side walls was
much lower than the other, and the roof had two great waves, and was
heavily clothed, in natural patterns, with velvet moss, and sprinkled
all over with bright amber lichen: a few tiles had slipped off in two
places, and showed the rafters brown with time and weather: but the
structure was solid and sound; the fallen tiles lay undisturbed beneath
the eaves; not a brick, not a beam, not a gravestone had been stolen,
not even to build the new church: of the diamond panes full half
remained; the stone font was still in its place, with its Gothic cover,
richly carved; and four brasses reposed in the chancel, one of them
loose in its bed.

What had caused the church to be deserted had kept it from being
desecrated; it was clean out of the way. No gypsy, nor vagrant, ever
slept there, and even the boys of the village kept their distance.
Nothing would have pleased them better than to break the sacred windows
time had spared, and defile the graves of their forefathers with
pitch-farthing and other arts; but it was three miles off, and there was
a lion in the way: they must pass in sight of Squire Raby's house; and,
whenever they had tried it, he and his groom had followed them on
swift horses that could jump as well as gallop, had caught them in the
churchyard, and lashed them heartily; and the same night notice to quit
had been given to their parents, who were all Mr. Raby's weekly tenants:
and this had led to a compromise and flagellation.